


You Won't Believe What Happens Next!

by ErnestScrivener



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale and Crowley become Content Creators, Humor, M/M, Sex with Snake Form Crowley (Good Omens), Snake Crowley (Good Omens), oh no we must film a snake attack how will we do it, you wouldn't download a demon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:27:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27646154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErnestScrivener/pseuds/ErnestScrivener
Summary: “We’re going to spread poorly-sourced unconfirmed video evidence that there’s a great big venomous snake living in swimming pools.” Crowley flicks his forked tongue and smooths back his hair. “Think of the panic! The blaming! The acrimonious community meetings! ”Aziraphale doesn’t look nearly as impressed as he ought to.“Are you sure that’s the ticket to discord and strife? It’s just, well...I mean, you’re rather adorable as a snake, aren’t you?”
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 105





	You Won't Believe What Happens Next!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so, so much to [Princip1914](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princip1914/pseuds/Princip1914) for beta-reading this fic, if the smut scene in this makes any sense it is thanks to them! 
> 
> A huge thank you as well to all the folks who oversaw and contributed to the Get A Wiggle Off zine, it was an absolute pleasure to be a part of it!

It’s an unbearably hot July in London. The flies gave up properly buzzing sometime in June, now reduced to doing backstrokes through the air. Ice cream vans circle the streets as their music blearily pervades the afternoon humidity. Aziraphale polishes off an icebox cake as Crowley sips at a lemonade so spiked it carries a risk of impalement. When he sets it down, the glass sweats trails of condensation.

“Angel, I wanted to ask you a favor.”

“I knew it.” Aziraphale is smug as anything. His face is splotched in violent pinks and reds. Flushed like this, he bears an uncanny resemblance to the Aziraphale that Crowley guiltily conjures in his mind on long solitary nights, an Aziraphale with less scruple and clothing than the real version. It’s distracting, and it’s not helping to decrease his temperature.

“What? You can’t—how?”

“My dear, you always bring me icebox cake when you want favors. Or chocolate fondue, if it’s winter.”

Crowley sputters, then collects himself.

“Right, well, pretty standard Arrangement stuff, got an assignment in Brighton.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale brightens and stabs at an unattended strawberry. “A seaside temptation sounds rather nice at a time like this. Perhaps you can take the blessing I’ve got on for Cardiff.”

“Actually, I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind giving me a hand. Got a sort of project.”

Aziraphale flicks a wing in the torrid air.

“Well, what sort of fiendish corruption are we to engender? I do hope it’s nothing too dreadful.”

“I’m supposed to inspire discord and strife, yeah? So I’m mulling over ideas, and I think, hey, it’s been ages since I’ve started a good conspiracy theory.”

Aziraphale groans. “Crowley, I’m not helping you mess with the weather again.”

“No, no, nothing like that, it’s brilliantly simple.” Crowley beams and jabs his own chest. “It’s me!” A dazzling fanged smile. “I’m the conspiracy.”

“Come again?”

“We’re going to spread poorly-sourced unconfirmed video evidence that there’s a great big venomous snake living in the swimming pools.” Crowley flicks his forked tongue and smooths back his hair. “Think of the panic! The blaming! The  _ acrimonious community meetings! _ ”

Aziraphale doesn’t look nearly as impressed as he ought to.

“Are you sure that’s the ticket to discord and strife? It’s just, well...I mean, you’re rather adorable as a snake, aren’t you?”

“ _ What? _ I’m dangerous,” Crowley insists.

“You’ve got a cute little snout,” Aziraphale says.

“I have three-inch fangs!”

“Oh, and that tongue flicker thing you do is just darling.” He actually giggles.

“ _ OK angel _ , ignoring for a moment my fear-inducing bona fides, are you sure you’re up for this? It involves operating technology that was manufactured since the millennium.”

“Crowley, only one of us has ever stabbed a computer with a sushi knife, and that wasn’t me.”

“It was an  _ iPod, _ and the bloody thing deserved it.”

“Whatever you say, dear.”

***

It’s almost insulting how easy it is to get into the attractive vacation house they’ve chosen for the unconfirmed snake sighting.

“Remind me again why that nice man just handed you the keys to his property?” Aziraphale asks weakly.

“I’m a housesitter. Got a profile online and everything.” Crowley shows a screen full of five star reviews. “Tony Crowley’s reliable, responsible, and  _ great _ with houseplants. And he’s not above a bit of pool service.” He winks at Aziraphale, who rolls his eyes.

The pool isn’t large, but it’s kitted out in turquoise tile and partially overhung with a trellis full of trailing plants that are probably a real pain to clean out of the chlorinated water. A small inflatable swan makes lazy pirouettes, drifting in the gleaming blue. It looks calm, idyllic, and thoroughly inaccessible to marauding snakes.

Aziraphale retrieves the tripod, which for some inexplicable reason he has begun addressing with honorifics.

“There you are, Mr. Tripod, now let me just get Miss Smartphone and we can test the light…”

There are a lot of things Crowley wants to ask about this, not least among them why it was his fate to fall in love with the daftest being in Creation.

Aziraphale is absorbed in facilitating the union of phone and tripod and experimenting with the focus and depth of field. So absorbed that he doesn’t notice Crowley has stripped naked until he swivels the camera around towards the pool.

“What in the name of Heaven are you doing?” Aziraphale squeaks. His eyes sweep up and down Crowley’s body and return again for another, slower pass, as if to catalogue every freckle.

Crowley shrugs as his face becomes pink. “Snakes don’t wear skinny jeans.” He concentrates for a moment, shifts into serpent. “Aziraphale, don’t be weird, you sssee me naked all the time like thisss.”

“Yes but—that’s completely different! You’re a snake!”

“Doesn’t feel any different to me though, doesss it?” Crowley slips into the pool as realization trickles into Aziraphale’s face and widens his eyes.

The water is warm and the smell of chlorine wallops Crowley whenever he flicks out his tongue. He does a few wiggly laps across the pool, getting used to the feeling of swimming again without the benefit of kicking feet or windmilling arms. It’s not too long before he stops thrashing awkwardly and becomes an elegant sine curve cutting through the water. 

Aziraphale trains the makeshift camera on him, chronicling his watery movements like he’s making a demonic  _ Planet Earth _ , and frowning when Crowley lunges theatrically at the lens.

“Really dear, is that necessary?”

“Dunno, let’s see how scary it looks.”

Aziraphale detaches the camera from the tripod and Crowley hauls most of himself onto the pool’s ledge.

They review the footage, and Aziraphale jumps for a second time when filmed-Crowley strikes out fangs first.

“Well, what do you think?” Aziraphale asks.

Crowley is incapable of shrugging as a snake, but he oscillates in an unimpressed fashion.

“It’s alright. The striking bit is good. I dunno, I feel like it needs something. There’s rising action but no climax, you know? Pity I don’t have a proper victim.”

The look Aziraphale shoots at Crowley is so sharp it nearly pierces scale.

“No, Crowley, I am  _ not  _ being your tragic bitee—”

“—Whoa, hang on, I didn’t suggest that—”

“—you absolutely cannot wind yourself around my neck and choke me and I refuse—”

Crowley is about to protest he had no plans for asphyxiation, but his brain gets stuck somewhere around touching Aziraphale’s neck with his several meters of belly, and he finds himself utterly unable to recall what he was supposed to be objecting to.

“—and I suppose if you  _ must _ we can, but please be careful it’s not fatal, that’s not the sort of thing I can explain to the angels in Reincorporation.”

Aziraphale looks at the looped form of Crowley, expectant. Crowley has zoned well and truly out: he realizes Aziraphale has remonstrated so fiercely against the idea that he’s gone and talked himself into it. It was about three centuries into their acquaintance when Crowley gave up trying to follow the tunnels of thought in Aziraphale’s intricate and highly repressed mind, so he takes it mostly in stride before he realizes Aziraphale is expecting to be mauled on camera.

“I’m not—we don’t have to,” he sputters, feeling rather too hot around the heat pits.

“Oh I’m sure it’ll be alright.” Aziraphale sighs, as though this role is being imposed upon him by some agent other than himself. “I’ll be keeping my clothes on, though.”

“Probably for the best,” Crowley says, feeling faint. “Erm, should I just—strike from behind and pull you into the pool?”

Something crosses Aziraphale’s face and leaves an odd mess of bewilderment, titillation, and unbridled hunger in its wake.

“Y-yes, I think that would do.”

Crowley drops back into the pool as Aziraphale resets the recording and then walks out of frame, only to return a moment later looking extraordinarily apprehensive.

“Don’t make that face, you’re not supposed to know I’m here,” Crowley hisses from the chlorinated shallows.

“Oh, quite right. Sorry.”

The second attempt is worse: he bursts into nervous laughter and hides his face before he gets close. The third time, Crowley lunges before Aziraphale reaches the agreed-upon Snake Zone, wraps himself around the trunk of his body, and pulls.

The resulting splash is impressive even to beings who were present for very Great Floods indeed. 

Aziraphale flings an arm wide and hits Crowley in a sensitive scale, and Crowley redoubles the pressure on his captured angelic torso, lashing his tail in the bright water and almost forgetting it’s just for a throwaway Youtube account.

Then, at the moment of severest squeezing, Aziraphale makes a noise that Crowley has only heard in the sickest, stickiest, least inhibited circles in Hell. 

_ Have to edit out the sound of this one, _ he thinks as he winds part of himself around Aziraphale’s neck and another bit of himself around an expanse of thigh.  _ Who knew Aziraphale’s victim-of-a-snake-attack noise would sound just like he’s— _

“—coming along splendidly, dear, but I do think we’ve moved out of frame.” When Aziraphale kicks in the water, Crowley’s body rolls between two plush thighs. He experiences a brief but violent spasm of bliss.

“Do you think we ought to do another take?” Aziraphale asks, a little out of breath as he treads water. His eyes are dark, and drips glisten like sugar crystals from his ruined hair. When Crowley flicks his tongue again he tastes a droplet.

“Maybe just one bite for the algorithm,” Crowley says, without the authorization of his higher brain functions. There’s a brief, tense pause filled entirely by cicadas and distant lawn mowers, and then Aziraphale smiles shyly and nods.

Crowley finds himself facing a proffered, dripping patch of neck, and before he can lose his nerve he slips his head under Aziraphale’s jaw and takes a gentle, hopefully non-venomous, bite.

Aziraphale keens, and sinks deeper into the water, but one of his arms wraps around a thick coil of Crowley and the other reaches up to stroke the scaled spine that begins right below Crowley’s head.

It’s very, very good, and Crowley releases Aziraphale’s neck for a moment to flick his tongue across the underside of Aziraphale’s jaw and breathe in the wonderful scent of aroused angel.

Because  _ that’s _ happening now, Crowley can feel it, Aziraphale’s hands are warm and soft and encouraging him to squeeze tighter and his insistent cock is poking Crowley’s belly.

Three pool noodles on the deck waver disapprovingly in the faint summer breeze, as if shocked by the actions of one of their cylindrical brethren.

It’s not exactly a private space and they haven’t really discussed things properly or at all and there’s a damn video running, but Crowley tells common sense to go to his office, and insinuates the end of his tail into Aziraphale’s trousers around his lovely cock.

Aziraphale moans outright, and clutches the wet twists of Crowley closer. 

“This OK, angel?” 

“Don’t stop, please don’t stop,” Aziraphale whispers. He stands in the water, and touches the edge of the pool as if to brace himself as Crowley slides around and around.

“I’ve wanted to do this for ages,” Crowley confesses, poking his snout experimentally down Aziraphale’s shirt. “Didn’t really think it’d be like this, though.”

Crowley slithers in where he’s been invited, under the water and against Aziraphale’s skin where it’s smooth and slippery and sinful.

“Ooh that’s really quite lovely ohhh my oh my,” Aziraphale squeaks as Crowley darts into the unbuttoned regions and makes use of his flexible jaw.

The water stings Crowley’s eyes. He should miracle that away, but his attention is diverted by Aziraphale squirming in his ecstatic coils and Aziraphale pressing at a particularly nice spot towards the base of his tail and Aziraphale hot and erect in his mouth.

“Do be careful—fangs—please dear,” Aziraphale gasps from above the water, as Crowley slithers down until his snout hits angel belly. His forked tongue becomes extremely busy. Everything blurs, not least because his vision is threatening to white out in response to whatever Aziraphale’s thumb is doing to another forked part of his anatomy.

It takes several moments for Crowley to realize they’re flipping over. He draws back with a slurp to find his head above water as Aziraphale floats on his back. He feels both disappointed and relieved to see Aziraphale’s eyes are closed against the bright sun.

Crowley reapplies himself to his task, minding his fangs, until  _ fuck fuck fuck  _ that’s  _ definitely _ Aziraphale’s tongue, the angel is licking him, he feels a surge of pleasure so strong it’s almost painful right as Aziraphale spurts hot and pulsing into his mouth.

Several long, sun-drenched seconds pass by and then Aziraphale mumbles something about turning off the camera, untwines himself, climbs daintily up the vertical pool ladder, and miracles his clothes dry again.

Panting, Crowley asks, “Did you—how long have you wanted to do this?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Aziraphale says to Miss Smartphone. “I suppose one can only have so many dreams of being ravished by a garden hose before certain facts start to become apparent.”

A thousand urgent questions follow in Crowley’s mind, but he climbs out of the pool, slithers back into his jeans, and transforms before he poses the next one. 

“Erm, obviously I’ll edit that bit out of the video. Just gonna delete everything after I lunge at you, yeah?”

Aziraphale looks at him with eyes the same color as the pool water and something that might be worry.

“Unless you have a use for it, I suppose,” he says, in a strange, pointed way.

That can’t have been a wink. Aziraphale looks too upset to be winking.

***

It couldn’t have been a wink, Crowley thinks, as he opens the video on his computer and makes sure the definition is set to 1280 x 720. It must not have been a wink. But later that week Aziraphale called and asked some odd questions about how the innocuous part looked when it was “downloaded to the internet,” and after a great deal of hemming and hawing, wondered if he might have a copy of the entire thing, on the off chance Crowley hadn’t deleted the rest.

Crowley presses play and gives himself a long, slow stroke.

Some time later, Aziraphale receives an email encrypted by a special hellish ritual and containing one attachment. The subject line reads “~~~~~~<:>—<”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this fic! If you'd like to read the SFW zine fic I wrote, it's [The Magician's Assistant](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27645973). Stay well all!


End file.
